The Pair of 'Em
by robspace54
Summary: Unlikely teams can often produce the best outcomes, but when Ash met Scribbs all was not well.
1. Chapter 1

**The Pair of 'Em**

by robspace54

 _ **Murder in Suburbia**_ **was produced for ITV from 2004 to 2005. This story has been written for entertainment purposes only. The author claims no infringement of any rights of the producers and creators of the TV show.**

000

Detective Inspector Kate Ashurst was cerebral, intelligent, and methodical. Detective Sergeant Emma Scribbins was intuitive, street-wise, and impulsive.

Sullivan stared at the personnel folders on his clean desk top. Could these two work together? God knew Middleford CID needed good investigators.

Ash had shown she was very capable in the last few investigations. The work she did with DI Collins on the Waitebridge Case was inspired. Who would have thought the murder was committed with methane gas?

Sullivan stood and went downstairs to look into the bull pen where the detectives worked. Ashurst was typing away on her computer; one thing she was very good at. Not just the typing but her sorting of data, teasing key bits from a pile of dross into useable information. As usual Ash looked all business togged out in sensible black booys and trousers, white blouse, and gray coat; the very image of a non-nonsense investigator.

Sergeant Scribbins was leaning back in her chair twirling a lock of her blonde hair. Her other hand was toying with her tea mug; which was decorated with a pink pony. Scribbins was chewing gum he could tell, the way her jaws worked. If Ashurst was a symbol of efficiency from dress to manner while Scribbins was the polar opposite from her jeans with tattered hems above her scuffed trainers, to the iridescent and shocking pink jumper.

They seemed a very unlikely pair.

Sullivan sighed. Scribbins had just been transferred from Thatchford Substation, where most of her work had been on property vandalism and more recently working undercover with the narcos. Oh she was useful, too useful, after they fingered the drug activities in the college on that side of town. So she needed to be moved after the case was cracked. Wouldn't do to have her real identity fingered by the few street thugs they'd not caught up with.

He sighed. So far Scribbins had been a third wheel on his teams, learning the ropes at headquarters. Perhaps it might be time to let her get her feet actually wet?

Ashurst rose, went to the communal printer and retrieved a page. Sullivan watched as she came back to her desk, read it silently, and then passed it across her desk to Scribbins.

Scribbins took the paper and laughed aloud as she read it. "Oh my God!" Emma exclaimed. "You're joking! Right?"

Her outburst made every other officer in the room stop what they were doing and send a dirty look her way.

Emma looked around the room at the disproving stares. "Sorry I woke _you_ lot up," she answered. "This," she waved the paper, "is a right joke."

Sullivan nodded for the choice just made itself. Perhaps they had all gotten a bit up in the air. Scribbins might just be the one to sort them. Fire and ice? Water and oil? It was worth a try.

Ashurst raised an eyebrow when he stopped by her desk. "Boss."

"Ah yes, DI Ashurst, and DS Scribbins. Morning" He smiled at the two women. "Scribbins how are you finding us?"

"Bit dry, Boss," Scribbins told him. "But I'm the new one here. I expect getting the stink eye."

Ashurst shook her head and frowned.

Sullivan caught Ash's frown but kept his smile in place. Scribbins would learn one way or the other. "Oh, DS we're getting used to you as well," he reminded her.

Her smile vanished. "Sorry Boss."

Sullivan peered down at the paper in Scribbins' hand. "What's this?"

Scribbins grinned. "Office football pool, Boss. I can't believe the choices that some of _this_ lot made." She shook her head. "Right barking if you ask me."

Ashurst sighed.

Okay, Sullivan thought. Here goes. "DI Ashurst I'd like you to work with DS Scribbins, if you would."

"Boss?" Ashurst asked, her eyes gone wide open. "You want me to?"

Sullivan could tell Ash was not happy. "Yes, I do," he said. He dropped a folder on her desk. "Show her the ropes on this one. Follow-up work on the missing person case. Jenny Browning."

Emma crossed her arms and smiled. "Sounds like fun!"

Sullivan nodded. "I'll leave you to it." He turned and walked away figuring it was sink or swim for the pair. He glanced back to see Ashurst looking daggers at his back. He gave her a quick shrug then went back to his office.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2 – Names**

Shaking her head, Ashurst opened the folder which the Boss had plopped on her desk. "Jenny Browning," she read aloud. "Thirty-one. Caucasian, blonde hair, blue eyes, fair complexion. Five foot six, one hundred twenty two pounds, slender build. No distinguishing marks or scars. Perfect teeth and no children. Married to Barry Browning; and he's got money; in oil. Reported missing on the 12th of this month."

Scribbins went around the desk to peer over Ashurst's shoulder. She saw a picture of an attractive woman clipped onto the manila. "Pretty." She pointed to the picture. "Freckles." She turned to face the wall calendar. "Ten days gone. Why?"

Ashurst nodded. "She went to market and never came home. Her car, a rather nice BMW, was found in the local car park. Near as the husband could figure nothing was amiss with the car _or_ her."

Scribbins grinned. "But they all say that don't they?" She sighed. "Everything is perfect in the 'burbs. Not a care in the world."

Ashurst plucked the picture from the folder and held it up for closer inspection. "So why would this one," she tapped the picture, "disappear?"

Scribbins looked at the photo again. The woman was smiling at the camera and there wasn't a line of worry on her smooth oval shaped face. "Money trouble?"

Kate shook her head. "The husband is doing very well, he said, and the bank records show that. No money missing either from their joint accounts. Her cash card has not been used and her mobile goes straight to voice mail."

"How old is the hubby?" Scribbins nodded.

Ashurst bent over the papers in the file. "He's forty-seven."

Grinning once more, Emma answered, "So… I think we should talk to Barry, don't you?"

Ashurst bowed her head. "I was thinking the same. Meet you at the door. Loo break."

Scribbins watched her new posh and trim police partner walk down the hall and around the corner. "Emma," she said to herself softly, "this one may be hard to get to know. All business."

She turned her head to see DI Anders inspecting her closely. "You got a problem, mate?" she asked him pointblank.

Anders shook his gray head at her. "Not me."

Emma smiled at the man, who was a good thirty years her senior. "I'm just the new girl. Don't mind me."

"I was just thinkin'," he said, "back when I was a young pup on the Force we didn't have women. Leastwise not as detectives – not in Middleford."

Emma gave him her best smile. "It's 2004 Anders, better suck it up."

His face blanched. "I'm just sayin'… things are…"

Emma shrugged into her coat. "Modern."

Anders pursed his lips. "Oh I know."

Emma signed out the car from Services and was holding the keys when Ashurst met her. "You'll drive?"

"No, no," Ashurst replied. "You signed for it. You bash a wing panel it's on you."

Scribbins made a face. "You don't want me to drive."

Ashurst held up her hands. "Go for it."

Outside they got into a small black Vauxhall Vectra, which was actually an Opel, and Ashurst watched while her partner carefully adjusted the seat, the steering column angle, and then the mirrors. Kate crossed her arms. "Finished?" she asked.

Scribbins nodded. "My dad always said to check your mirrors. He was a lorry driver so he knew." She started the car and the pulled out onto the street.

After a few blocks, Scribbins turned to her car mate. "So…"

"So?" Ashurst responded.

"Yeah, we gonna be DI Ashurst and DS Scribbins? I don't expect we'll be best mates – nothing like that. But names? But you can call me Emma, if you like."

"Uhm fine. Kate," Ashurst responded. "Kathryn, with a Y."

"Ah. My granny was Catherine with a _C_."

Kate grunted, "I've spent my whole life correcting people who want to spell my front name with a C."

Emma laughed. "Oh I know! That's the way with my middle name."

"Oh? Something ghastly? Matilda?"

Emma shook her head when she stopped at the next light. "Mum was a reader, far better than me I'm afraid and she was in love with this one Brit author…"

Kate turned to look at the driver when she got an inkling of what she meant. "No!"

Emma laughed. "Yep. Mum's fav writer is Jane Austen."

"And she didn't! She named you?"

She cast a clever look at Kate. "And her maiden name was Woodhouse."

Kate laughed aloud. "Oh my God."

"Yeah, it's a hoot. Emma Woodhouse Scribbins. I got into more fights than I care to remember with kids who found out my middle name," she sighed.

Kate laughed then shook her head. "Sorry. Maybe I'll just call you Scribbs."

Scribbs nodded. "I'd like that. Then I'll you Ash."

"Fine," Ash replied. "Scribbs and Ash. Good."

Scribbs looked at her new partner. "I think we'll get along just _fine_."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3 – Homes**

Ash, which was how she thought of herself now as she rode alongside her new partner, checked out the driver. Scribbs was painlessly threading the car through the thick traffic, being careful to spare the paintwork, yet not afraid to blow the hooter loudly and make a rude hand gesture at other drivers who disliked her driving style.

"Smooth, Scribbs," Ash told her after she cut off a red motorcycle and a black taxi simultaneously.

Scribbs grinned as she cracked her gum. "Told ya' my dad drove a lorry."

Ash grabbed the door handle and held on when Scribbs made an especially hard left turn. "I bet he was _never_ late for a delivery."

"Just mine," Scribbs laughed. "He was in Crete when I was born. Deployment. Royal Navy."

"Ah."

Scribbs laughed. "My driving bother you?"

"No, just…" she winced after a close shave with a boxwood hedge, a post box, and the red motorcycle, in that order, which had caught up with the speeding police car.

Scribbs gave the rider a friendly wave and engaging smile, which pulled alongside at the next stoplight. The man flipped up his dark visor to thoroughly inspect them.

The rider was lean and togged out in tight jeans, black boots, and a thick black leather jacket. Gloves covered his hands though it was warm day. The black helmet he wore was full wrap-around with a narrow slit of a visor.

His eyes flicked across Ash like she wasn't even there but he fixated on Scribbs' oval face and clipped blonde hair. The hair had grown out enough that brown was showing. Time for another dye job, Ash mused. The rider looked hard at Scribbs but then as soon as the signal changed to green, he dropped the clutch and sped away in a cloud of burnt rubber taking a turn ahead at high speed.

Nice bum, thought Ash as the cycle sped away before it disappeared. A Kawasaki bike, she added to the mental list; fairly new. Dual stainless exhausts; must have a large motor. No cargo bins, but a blue backpack was strapped across the seat, obscuring most of the number plate. From what Kate could see, the first letters were XM. She shook herself for such was the way her mind worked – always cataloging things and people.

"Huh," Scribbs muttered.

"Huh what? You know him?"

Scribbs shook her head slowly. "Don't think so."

"Probably just entranced with that skintight t-shirt you're sporting, Scribbs."

Scribbs chuckled. "Well, if you got it, flaunt it, not that I've got that much." She bounced on the seat while she looked down at her slender chest. "Blokes don't seem to complain, _mostly_. You? Got a bloke?"

"Not at present. You?"

"No," Scribbs sighed. "Seems like most of the good ones are gone." She chuckled. "Or they like bigger chests."

Ash rolled her eyes. "Let's not talk about guys."

"Fine."

All gone, or they don't fancy police detectives, mused Ash, based on her most recent dating experiences.

The roadway went down to two lanes after the next turnabout then suddenly it was very residential. Large two and three story houses lined the street, all sporting showy porticos and well maintained lawns. No brick pads in front of these homes, for they all had honest-to-goodness tarmac driveways and actual grass.

Ash checked the address in the file. "787 Medford Circle. Every notice how all the good neighborhood streets are named Circle, Way, or Drive? The rest get stuck with Street or Avenue." She wrinkled her nose. "I wouldn't mind living here though."

Scribbs nodded at the next house. "There. 787." The home was a stately faux Tudor with massive wooden trim framing cream coloured stucco sections. "Bet you anything those timbers are Fibreglas and not real wood."

"Bet a coffee you're wrong."

"Taken." Scribbs pulled into the drive and stopped. "Right. How do we do this?"

"Whatcha' mean?"

"Good cop – bad cop?" Scribbs said, meaning one of them ought to be nice while the other asked the tough questions.

"Oh," Ash sighed as she popped her seat harness and opened her door. "Let's just play it by ear."

They walked to the door and beheld a massive wood door, glistening with new varnish. "Nice," Scribbs said, but then she pushed the buzzer and darted to the right to inspect one of the trim timbers.

That left Ash feeling the fool when the door suddenly opened and she was looking at a middle-aged man. She opened her badge folder. "Mr. Browning? I'm Detective Inspector Ashurst," she said as she held out her badge.

The man had deep blue eyes, wavy ash-blonde hair, and his chiseled features seemed to fit his tall frame. "Oh, right." He turned his head to see Scribbs scraping a fingernail down his house. He cocked his head at Scribbs. "She with you?"

Kate blew angry air from her nose. "And this is Detective Sergeant Scribbins."

Scribbs jumped out of the planting bed below the front window. "Sorry. Just… I appreciate houses, is all," she answered brightly.

Mr. Browning looked at them both disapprovingly. "I suppose you'll want to come inside," he groaned.

Ash grimaced at him for a tenth of a second. "Or we can stand right here in your doorway and your neighbors can chin-wag about how the police are speaking to you once _again_."

"Come in then," he grunted.

As he backed out of the door and walked away, Scribbs had leave to mouth the word 'wood' to her partner when Browning's back was turned.

Kate sighed. Gonna be one of those days she thought to herself.

Scribbs smiled at her and cracked her gum as she entered the home.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4 – Husband**

With a wave of a hand Barry Browning indicated that the detectives should sit. Ash perched on the couch, but Scribbs stood.

Scribbs looked around the room and liked what she saw. A beige carpet covered the floor, set off by a modern grey microfiber three-cushion sofa and magenta leather sitting chairs, all arranged tastefully around a glass and stainless steel coffee table. Creative looking lamps accented the room along with a white brick fireplace and mantel above. A seascape hung above the mantel showing an orange sun setting into a green sea.

"Sorry," Scribbs said to their reluctant host, flexing a knee. "I get cramp if I sit too long."

As Scribbs inspected the room, Ash inspected the husband. The file read forty-seven, but he looked older, his face lined and drawn. Oh he was handsome, but he looked tired and strained; expected considering his wife was missing. Yet he seemed more upset by another police visit than by his spouses' absence.

Browning grimaced at her. "Suit yourself." He slumped down on the chair opposite Ash. "So, detectives," he sighed, "more of the same I suppose? Were we good? Was she happy? Was I happy? More mamby-pamby questions?"

Ash cast an unkind eye at him. "Yes. Were you?" She didn't like it when the victim resented her and her chosen profession.

Browning coughed. "Yes, and yes, and yes. Me, her; simpatico. Perfect. Soul mates. All that."

Scribbs looked around the room her gaze rested on a picture on the fireplace mantel. She crossed to it and picked it up. "This you two?" She held it out for inspection to Browning and to Ash.

Ash looked at a slightly younger Browning and the missing woman. The couple was dressed in cargo shorts, casual shirts, and high-topped hiking boots. Safe to say she looked both much younger and happier than she was.

Browning nodded. "That was our honeymoon in the Azores. Hiking, boating, scuba diving. Quite a trip."

"I see," Ash said. "You don't look terribly happy here," she tapped the picture.

He grunted. "Jenny wanted an elaborate trip, so that's what we had. But… well… my finances were not as rosy as they had been three months previously when we planned it. Just before the nuptials I wanted to take it down a notch – the arrangements that is – but she would have none of it. So I bowed to the inevitable and a missive destination wedding it was. When that shot was taken I was less than happy. The bubble in oil was leaking; that is I'd been watching my investments slide." He shook his head. "Plus I had a bad sunburn on my back."

"And spending money you didn't have," prodded Ash. "So you were hurting in more ways than one. Did she know – about the money?"

"Yes," he answered her. "No she didn't. I just put on a good front."

Scribbs asked, "And now?"

"Oh, fine. Good. Better," he said. "Much."

"Not your back, your investments," Scribbs poked.

Ash scowled at her colleague. "Mr. Browning I am sorry for…"

He laughed. "No, no. Fine. Funny that. The _other_ detectives weren't _quite_ as funny," he wrinkled his nose, " _or_ as charming. But anyway I had no idea that Jenny might do something like this."

"What do you think she did?" Ash asked next.

Browning waved his hands in a flustered way. "Oh, _this_. Fly the coop. Left me."

Scribbs gave Ash a quick look then she asked, "So you think she left on her own. Why might she do that?"

He shrugged. "Why does anyone do anything? Unless?" He looked down at the floor and sighed.

Ash perked up. "Unless what?"

The man shook his head. "We'd been arguing. She'd been pushing me to start a family with her. We've been married for three years and she told me she had thought we'd be having children already." He shook his head. "Nothing happened so far. I mean we _had_ been discussing it. Jenny was frustrated with the whole business; with me actually."

Ash cleared her throat sensing a breakthrough. "Are you saying _she_ wanted children and _you_ didn't?"

He laughed. "No, no, nothing like that. I do like children; wouldn't mind having our own. But," he sighed, "as you can see I am much older than her. It takes some getting used to the idea of having children at my age."

"Or any age," muttered Ash. "So let's get back to the day she was gone. The 12th?" Ash opened the folder. "I see that she went shopping, or so you thought, while you worked? How do you know that?"

"I work from home, have an office upstairs. I was reading emails and so forth. There's a new oil field I and my partners are thinking of investing in." He smiled. "The oil business used to be about wildcatting and high-risk ventures. You had to get your hands dirty. Now a smart investor can put some into a firm looking for investment. If you pick them right _they_ do the dirty work and you reap the rewards." Browning smiled. "It's all in the numbers you see. Which company has an edge on tech or is using new equipment or has a hot lead on a patch of mud 1000 feet under the North Sea. They take most of the risk and do the real work. I can…"

"Sit on the sidelines and make money?" Scribbs finished for him.

"You make it sound tawdry!" he responded. "Of _course_ make _money_." He craned his neck to look around the room. "All this is just money in another form." He grinned at the detectives. "My money; money I made."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5 – Jenny**

Ash asked Mr. Browning if they could look around the house.

"Again?" he sniffed with hands thrown high. "Fine!" he snapped. "I'll be in my office. Let me know when you are done or if you are taking anything!" He shot to his feet and stormed up the stairs.

Scribbs' mouth fell open at the man then she stuck out her tongue at his retreating back.

"DS Scribbins! Don't do that!" hissed Ash at her in a caustic whisper.

"Old bugger," muttered Scribbs half to herself, just loud enough for Ash to hear.

Ash glared at her associate with malice.

Scribbs broke the chill between them by she saying, "Sorry Ash. Let's go take a look in their bedroom."

Ash's hands clenched in anger but then she relaxed. Scribbs had her ways, some of which needed taming. She resolved to give her partner an earful after they left. "Maybe we can make a detective out of you yet Scribbs."

"Oh?"

"Take a lot of work… but it _might_ be worth it."

Scribbs bowed. "Thank you Detective Inspector," she said mockingly. "I bow to _your_ wisdom."

"Oh hush!"

Scribbs led Ash upstairs and looked in to a small room where Mr. Browning was working at a computer. He glared at her when she interrupted. "Sir, my we look at your bedroom. Perhaps there is a diary of something…"

"End of the hall." He waved a hand. "Now go away."

The women traded facial expressions of surprise and then they went to the door indicated and opened it. The bedroom within was a bright and airy room, decorated modernly like the front room of the house. The bedframe and clothing wardrobes were teak and a leather recliner faced a television on a stand. The en-suite bath was tile and glass and the bath items all laid out as if for fashion magazine shoot.

"Nice," Ash muttered. She pulled the hall door partway closed then began to peer into wardrobe drawers while Scribbs checked out the bedside tables.

In one bedside table Scribbs found an old flashlight, spare batteries, a fishing magazine, and a package of condoms. The table on the other side of the bed held very female items; a package of tissues, a romance novel, nail clippers, bottles of nail varnish, a thermometer, and pens and pencils. Pretty clear who slept on which side of the bed. When she slid the drawer back in in it stuck for a moment then slid back all the way.

Finding nothing obvious Emma moved to the bathroom for an inspection of soaps, shampoos, and lotions.

Ash peered under men's clothing in the first wardrobe, all folded neatly. The second piece of furniture held the missing Mrs. Browning's things. Sheer nightdresses and expensive lingerie, along with silk cardigans and shorts, told her a lot about the missing woman. She dressed well both outside and in.

The walk-in clothes closet was filled with equally decorative dresses and tailored trousers on one side. The other wall racks held Mr. Browning's clothing, most of it running more to the utilitarian than the elegant.

Scribbs stuck her head into the closet and gave a low whistle. "Mrs. Browning liked to dress up, no doubt."

Ash opened the neck of a beaded gown and showed Scribbs the label – a designer name on High Street. "Yes, which might explain his attention to money? Appears she liked to spend it."

Scribbs wrinkled her nose. "Doesn't make sense. Great house and clothes, and the report said she drove a nice car, so why would she go missing? Maybe the old man got under her nerves."

Ash looked at the expensive and glittery garments; a contrast to her husband's fashion hanging there. "Right."

Scribbs sighed. "Perfect life - perfect wife."

"Then why has she gone missing? Jenny, what have you done with yourself?"

"Exactly my thought."

Ash tossed her head. "Must be _some_ reason. Find anything in the bedside tables or the bath?"

"Not really," Emma sighed. "But there is one thing…" She walked over to Mrs. Browning's table and pulled the drawer out all the way. In the cavity behind she found a small notebook, which she picked up and opened. "That's what was making that noise. It was hidden behind the drawer." It was a small calendar with a long sheet of paper folded inside.

Scribbs opened the paper and found it was a graph of some sort.

"What you have there?" Ash asked.

"Don't know."

Ash's hand unfolded the chart the rest of the way. A clear legend across the top announced this was a 'Basal Body Temperature Chart' with a legend down one side listing key items, such as when ovulation would occur, when to measure temperature, and so forth.

"She was charting her menstrual cycle," Scribbs said tenderly. "Trying to get pregnant. My cousin and his wife been doing this very thing."

"Browning did say they were trying for a baby."

"Then why does he have a pack of condoms in his table?"

Ash's eyes went wide. "That is a very good question."

Mr. Browning was deep into an elaborate spreadsheet when Ash cleared her throat from the hallway behind him. He turned to stare at her. "You about done?"

"Yes, thank you…"

"For letting you poke around," he grumped. "Fine. Right. Come back any time."

Scribbs peered into the office. "You said you were trying to make a baby."

"I did mention that," he sighed. "Nothing so far."

Ash produced the chart and from the way Browning started he'd never seen it before. "We found this in your wife's things," Ash told him.

He waved an indifferent hand. "Okay."

Scribbs smirked. "But it will be a bit hard to have a child with your wife missing won't it?"

He shook his head and scowled. "I don't know what in hell you are implying! My wife simply went out shopping and never came home. That's it. So find her! Quit poking about my house and do something! Earn your pay! Got it?"

Scribbs belted herself into the car but didn't start the motor. "What do you think?"

Ash got settled and opened the temperature chart she had taken as evidence. "This is a three month chart. See the 'x' marks across the bottom? Those must be the days when she had sex, around the times of her lowest temperature, until this big spike and then her cycle starts again."

" _That's_ how it works," Scribbs said. "No idea."

"Well you're not trying to have a baby are you?"

"Are you?"

"No," Ash snapped. "Got to find the right man first."

"But she was – trying – with _someone_ …"

The two detectives looked hard at each other. "But who with?" Ash asked. "Perhaps not her husband?"

"Right," Scribbs nodded at her. "And their bedroom didn't seem like anything was missing; that is there were no spots where clothing may have been in the drawers."

Ash replied, "Unless she bought new somewhere."

Scribbs added, "She must have a boyfriend."

"If we find him, then we find her."

Scribbs chuckled. "We'll make a detective out of you yet Kate."

That made Kate burst out laughing as Scribbs started the motor and backed away from the expensive house.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6 – Info**

Ash was mulling over the way Browning had acted with them. "Didn't you find him odd?" she asked Scribbs.

Scribbs laughed. "What? The way he hated cops or the way he loved his money? Did you hear what he said? All that rubbish about _his_ money. Sounded to me like he was jealous she spent any of it."

Ash sighed. "He was rather graspie about it." She noticed the puzzled frown Emma got on her face. "He kept saying 'my money.'"

Emma smiled. "So dear old wifey had it all, it seems. Clothes, money, that house," she blew a long whistle. "If she was a kept woman it looked pretty grand to me!"

Ash said sadly, "But she wanted a child and he didn't."

"Got that. I suppose she might have gone looking elsewhere for affection and a willing sperm."

"One way to put it."

Scribbs made a guttural noise.

"What?"

"Do you think she might have started thinking along those lines – some other man's _donation_ as it were?"

Ash shook her head. "How to know?"

Scribbs chuckled. "Did she attend a health club?"

Ash glanced at the file in her hands. "Yep. Name of 'Terrific Bod.' What a name!"

Scribbs slowed at the next roundabout, and took a left at the second turn. "I know it. Used to go there."

"Oh? That where you taking us?"

"Yes. There was this guy I was dating..."

"Ah."

"Don't make it sound that way for heaven's sake!"

"Well just how way is it _supposed_ to sound, Scribbs? Hmm?"

Scribbs sighed. "He worked there for a while. Got me a trial membership for a month, but I discovered trial memberships were _free_ , and Phil was bonking all the new girls."

"Ouch."

Scribbs nodded. "Right. Seemed like a nice guy, at first."

Ash rolled her eyes. "But he wasn't."

Scribbs got a wicked grin. "Oh he was nice… all over… just not for any lasting reasons."

Kate tried to suppress a painful smile. "He was a serial monogamist." She'd been there herself.

"Yep, for about four weeks at a time." Emma sighed. "He was lovely though – with his clothes off."

Kate had been forming an opinion about Scribbs and her own comments confirmed it. Scribbs got around. "Why are all the good men taken?"

"Like Browning?" Scribbs chuckled.

"No. Not _him_. I mean…" she waved a hand hesitantly. "You know."

Scribbs took in the faraway look her partner got. "I know what you mean. Dependable, steady, handsome; able to pay for the meal you just ate. Likes music."

"They don't even have to be drop-dead gorgeous; just _presentable_. Manners as well and books – must like books. Or ones that aren't put off by the long hours and the business we're in. Like coming home with frontal lobe* on your shoe."

"Odd sorts get off on it."

"Ugh," Ash quivered.

Scribbs chuckled. "There is that."

Terrific Bod was in a converted store front between a veterinarian's office and a South Asian eatery. Ash eyed the property doubtfully. "This it?" The brickwork was cracked and splotched with faded mortar patches, the flashing neon sign in vibrant pink with animated female forms prancing across it spelled more strip club than workout gym. The front door painted in an eye-searing shade of electric green didn't change her first impression. She shook her head at Scribbs. "Really?"

Scribbs slid out of the car. "Sorry. He was cute."

No one in the workout club, not the assistant manager, or any members, could add any real information to the investigation. Yes they had seen Jenny Browning, no they weren't friends, just knew her enough to say 'hello' to, that sort of thing. No one knew where she might have gone off to or why.

Ash flipped through the file. "What we already knew," she muttered to Scribbs. "Waste of time."

They were starting to leave when the door opened and a teenage girl waltzed in. She was pretty in a racy sort of way, but for the metal stud piercing lip and nose, and the death's head moth tat on her neck below her left ear. The girl stepped behind the desk and clipped a name-tag to her blouse above her heart. It read Kandi. "You coppers?" she asked the detectives when they were by the door ready to be gone.

"Yes, we're police detectives," Ash corrected her.

"Still looking for Jenny Browning?" the girl asked them.

Scribbs nodded. "We are. Do you know anything about her?"

Kandi tossed her waist-length dishwater-blonde hair. "You might check next door."

"Whatcha mean?" Scribbs prodded.

"Sometimes this Browning woman stayed late. Once or twice I saw her meet up with the vet'nary," the clerk said. "Me and my girlfriend seen 'em at the pub as well – more than a couple times. My girlfriend works at the Tiger Pub over on Mulberry. Good music they have late."

Ash took her name and contact info. "Thank you. Did no one ask you about her? Why didn't you come forward before?"

Kandi shook her head. "I wasn't here when the other cops came in. Only heard she was missin'. I figured I'd tell somebody," she grinned. "Guess that's you."

 **Author's notes:**

 *** frontal lobe – a cross-program reference to DCI Banks where DI Helen Morton (played by Caroline Catz) complains she 'has frontal lobe on her instep' at a murder scene.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7 – Smells**

Ash eyed the front of veterinarian's office warily.

Scribbs rolled her eyes at her partner. "Problem, Ash?"

Kate pointed to the sign on the door. The legend read 'Happy Pet Care - Dogs, Cats, and Exotics'. "I have never fancied cats."

"Oh, I though the _exotics_ might put you off. Like that case last week?"

Kate threw an elbow at Emma and nearly connected for _exotics_ was a CID code for 'Death by Exotic'; usually meaning death with a kinky sexual component.

"No. The smell," Kate replied. "I find their urine to be pungent. Cats, that is."

Emma pushed open the door and took a sniff. "Not too bad." She held the door open wide. "After you."

Kate took a deep breath and walked inside the practice. Pleasantly surprised that the empty reception was well lit, clean, and had little odor of any kind, she rang a single bell sitting on the counter.

A door at the back opened and a frazzled-looking man wearing a long white coat came toward them. "Yes?" He was Asian in coloring, but not accent. "Do you need service? The girl, that is Pam, our receptionist just stepped out." He was about thirty-five and spoke in clipped tones

Emma drew out her badge and showed it to him. "I am DS Scribbins and this is DI Ashurst. You are?"

"Dr. Gupta. Ravindra Gupta. Something wrong, officer?"

Kate spoke. "We were wondering if you knew a Jenny Browning."

"Browning, Browning?" the man muttered. "Let me look at our records." He stepped to a computer on the desk and typed on the keyboard. "No, got a Margie Browning but no _Jenny_."

Scribbs sighed. "We don't believe that she is a patient, or has pets, or pets that we know of." She looked to Ash for confirmation, who shook her head 'no.'

The vet crossed his arms. "So what _is_ this about?" He glanced at his watch. "I'm to be at a meeting at four - closing early – plus I have a patient in the back.

Ash told him about the missing Jenny Browning. "The people next door say they saw you and her together at times. In a pub perhaps, as well?"

The man laughed. "Now that _is_ interesting, but no. I don't fancy my wife would be keen on that idea. But you must be looking for Dr. Barnard; my business partner. He is away on holiday."

Scribbs got a satisfied look. "Holiday?"

Dr. Gupta nodded. "Yeah, yeah. Majorca. Been gone, oh about ten days." He glanced at a wall calendar. "Yes he left the office on the 11th. I'd been arse over teakettle trying to keep up with the practice. We have three vet techs; one is away on maternity, the second has the flu, and the third is at present trying to take a temperature on a febrile feline." He sighed, pulled up a stained sleeve to reveal a long a string of plasters* covering what must be a wicked scratch. He smiled. "Can be a bit of a struggle. At least with people, a doctor can explain what's happening. Pets?" he shrugged. "This."

Kate sent a silent message to Emma with a surprised look. "May we please have Dr. Barnard's address?"

Gupta nodded. "Right." He scribbled a note on the back of a business card. "Not that far away. He bought a rather rundown place and has been fixing it up. Michael is into that woodworking stuff. Plus plastering and brickwork. Me? I'm for raising tropical fish."

Kate glanced at the front of the card in her hand. "But you care for dogs and cats, etcetera."

"But fish _don't_ bite or scratch," the vet answered. "Now if you don't mind, I must…"

He was interrupted by a feline scream from somewhere beyond the door he'd emerged from.

Gupta coughed. "That would be Sabrina – my patient. Hates to have her claws clipped**. Please excuse me." He turned and exited the room.

Kate showed the card to Emma. "Let's get over there."

Scribbs took the wheel on the drive to the vet's house. "Ash, are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

"Jenny Browning disappears on the 12th about the time this Michael Barnard is to go on holiday." Ash sighed. "Yes. We'll see if we have to call the SOCO*** boys. I hope not."

As they turned onto the target street the property values plummeted. Perhaps one in ten houses looked good, but a few appeared to be derelict.

"Reminds me of where I grew up," Scribbs muttered.

Ash peered at house numbers then pointed to a house on mid-block. "That one." The car crunched into a drive made of crushed stone between two flower beds. The one on the right was filled with bright flowers, but the other a weed-choked mess.

They faced a terraced two-story building. The one on the left had a sheet of gray plywood covering a front window, and had a scratched and battered front door. The right-hand domicile was bright and cheery with woodwork that was freshly painted and the door shone with fresh varnish.

Scribbs shrugged as they got out. "Not too bad." She looked up and down the street.

Ash peered around as well. "What they call a work in progress." She squared her shoulders. "Let's get to it."

Clearly Barnard had been hard at work for his address was the well-kept and repaired side. A knock at the door gave no response. Holding the door buzzer in gave no better reaction.

Scribbs went around the back to a rear door, where she tried to peer through a curtain. She could just make out a kitchen table and some cabinets but not much else. She pounded on the door. "Hello? Dr. Barnard? Police!" Silence was the reply. She looked at the windows top and bottom and they all appeared to be tight and unbroken.

She walked around the other home and saw more decayed woodwork, a sagging rear door, and a dirty window which was open a few inches. She tried to look in there as well but a layer of grime and dirt defeated her. She got a whiff of moldiness and decay from the opening. The garden, though muddy, appeared to be unmarked but there had been a lot of rain recently.

Finishing her inspection she returned to the front to see Ash pressed to the front window shielding her eyes.

"Can't see a thing Scribbs. Bloody dark in there," Ash told Scribbs.

Scribbs laughed. "Kate Ashurst – such language. Shocked that you learned such words at Lady Margaret's College for Posh Young Desirables****."

Kate stuck out her tongue. "It was Surrey College for Ladies, if you must know. He school _was_ founded by Lady Petra Wolsingham in 1838 for the education of her many nieces and great-nieces." She sighed. "And it wasn't _that_ posh. Now… no more school talk."

Scribbs grinned. "Our school was rebuilt after a V-1 took it out in the Blitz."

Kate cut her off. "Right. _No_ more history. Work. What do you think?"

"There's a window half open on the left house. Shall we take a peek?"

Ash sighed. "Searching adjacent premises without a warrant…"

"While seeking evidence which may prove important in the solution of a crime?" Scribbs finished.

" _If_ it _is_ a crime," Ash replied bighting her lip. "Okay. Gloves though and let's be quick." She looked up and down the street and saw no nosey parkers wondering what was going on. "Get the torches."

Scribbs went to the car and came back with two large torches. She hefted one in her hand. "I like these. Heavy, solid, good for bashing if it comes to that."

Ash took the other torch and flicked it on to test the beam, blinking in the glare. "Bright as well."

"The open window is just around here," Scribbs pointed. She led her partner to the rear of the building and after they gloved up a few shoves opened the window wide.

A musty smell of damp and rot billowed out with an undercurrent of something else nasty.

Scribbs coughed as the odor hit her nose. "God."

Ash sniffed and gagged. "I think… oh damn, no help for it. Boost me up."

Scribbs put her laced hands out for Ash to use as a step. "Nice boots," she observed but grunted as Ash's weight fell on her arms. "Hurry Kate."

Kate clutched at the window frame for a few moments until she could get her upper body up and in through the opening.

Scribbs rubbed her aching arms. "You need more of a workout Emma than boosting your partner… hey Kate!" she yelled into the open window. "See anything? Ash?"

Kate covered her nose and mouth, for inside the house the smell was something fierce. It was a smell that any police officer smelled once and never could dismiss; the sort that told her that violence had been done with deadly will.

The interior of the house was a shambles. She stumbled over piles of trash, mostly plaster from the ceiling, plus mounds of ruined furniture. She carefully edged around a gaping hole where stairs had been taken out, formerly leading to the basement.

Kate heard Scribbs calling her name, just as she looked down into the basement and saw what was causing the smell. A glance was all she needed to confirm her suspicions, so returning to the back of the house she pried at the door until it opened with a mighty heave.

"Ash?" Scribbs asked as Kate pushed her aside so she could a breath of clean air.

Kate shook head to clear it then breathed deeply. "Scribbs I hope you ate a large breakfast for we'll be here all night," Kate told her.

She pulled out her mobile and quick dialed. "Boss?" she said to Sullivan. "Found two bodies. I assume it will turn out to be Jenny Browning and perhaps a veterinarian named Michael Barnard. We'll need SOCO. Here's the address…"

Emma rubbed her arms as a cold wind blew and it began to drizzle. "Should have worn my heavy jumper," she said sadly.

 **Author Notes:**

 *** Plasters – Sticking Plasters (what the Americans call Band-Aids)**

 **** Just like our two cats!**

 ***** Scene Of Crime Officers; the team which investigates the scene of a deadly crime. A forensic evidence team.**

 ****** In MIS Series 1, Episode 1, "Applejacks", Scribbs accuses Ash of attending 'Lady Margaret's College for Posh Young Desirables'**

 **Author's Note II:  
**

 **Since Thursday May 12 reviews are being sent to the authors by email (if they have that set for their accounts) but are NOT being posted to the website. Lest you think your reviews are gone, they are not; merely stuck in limbo. I have contacted the admins and hopefully this recurring problem will get sorted!**


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8 – Weapon**

Dr. Weatherall, the Medical Examiner, squatted on his toes, taking a close look at the deceased female. "Ah."

"Ah?" Scribbs replied while rubbing her arms against the chill of the cellar and the scene of death.

"Ah, as in blunt force trauma."

Scribbs rolled her eyes at Ash. "Glad we called you in."

"Doctor," Ash said to him, "was it the fall?" She glanced up at the rotting floorboards and the hole above her. God she hated dark and smelly cellars. They reminded of her gran's ancient house where scary spiders and creepy cobwebs held sway. She looked at the morbid tableaux again. Two bodies; male and female. The man lay face up and the female face down. "Or was she coshed and then fell or was she pushed?"

"Or did she have a heart attack and fell in?" Scribbs added.

Weatherall considered what his reply ought to be. He'd dealt with DI Ashurst before and found her to be smart and observant. DS Scribbins he'd heard about. The Detective Sergeant tended to be brash and used her gut feel, or so he'd been told by Sullivan. Well, he sighed to himself, perhaps the Boss knew what he was doing putting the two of them together as a team.

Ash cleared her throat then indicated to Scribbs with an irritated look that she should shut it.

Scribbs wrinkled her nose at her partner but clapped her hand over her mouth.

Weatherall stood up, and cracked his back which had gotten stiff from his awkward posture. He looked at the detectives and the light of his headlamp washed over them, blinding them briefly, for both women shielded their eyes. "Sorry." He moved his light off them. "The man, mid-thirties, appears to be in fairly decent health. His cranium - the parietal dome - has been shattered."

"Parietal?" grunted Ash.

"The back of his skull," the M.E. replied. Weatherall bent down and put the light of his headlamp onto the floor at the edge of the skull. "Not unless he fell on something the shape of a round pry bar. I can feel the dent. About 2 centimeters wide, about 3/4's of an inch across I'd say."

Scribbs knelt down getting her trousers full of filth. "But the floor is all smooth concrete."

"Yep," Weatherall answered. "And nothing under his body."

Ash sighed. Murder most foul then. "A homicide."

Weatherall nodded; his light bouncing. "Appears to be."

Scribbs glanced at the position of the bodies. "I think he fell down first and then the woman. Her hand is on his arm."

The left arm on the woman was across the man's left elbow Ash saw. "Hm." She looked closer. "She's holding his elbow. Clutching it."

Weatherall looked at his watch then the piles of debris in the cellar. "My boys will get them out of here and to my lab." He squinted up at the opening above and the aluminium ladder they had used to gain access. "Going to be bloody hard."

Scribbs stood and brushed at her knees. "Damn, I just got these cleaned."

Ash sighed. "At least it looks fairly neat and tidy; I mean the scene of crime."

Scribbs coughed. "But," she pointed at the piles of rubbish around them, "the weapon could be in all that mess."

Weatherall grinned. "I have a new tool. Turn off your torches."

"What?" Ash said.

"Just do it." He switched off his lamp. He rummaged in his hold all. "Now let's see."

The detectives heard a snap and a dim blueish light was visible.

Ash smiled. "Black light – UV."

"Yes," the M.E. said. He waved his light around in widening circles.

"I didn't know that blood wound show up under it," Ash said.

"Not looking for blood," he answered.

Scribbs peered at the weird light show. Occasional scraps of light met her eyes. Weatherall's light roved over a pile of boards and broken pipe and she saw a glimmer. "Wait! Back it up."

"Where?" Weatherall asked.

"Back to the left, I think."

Ash stood still in the dimness, wishing for a hot tea and a soft couch. Her new boots were still stiff and her insteps ached. Ought to have worn the old pair. She wrapped her scarf tighter around her neck against the chill.

Scribbs yelled. "Stop!" She turned her torch on and walked straight to the spot she'd seen, now invisible under white light. "Ash, look at this."

Kate made her way over shattered boards to where Emma was pointing at a round bar, a largish black steel reinforcement used to strengthen concrete when it was poured. "That's about the proper size, looks to me," she heard her partner say.

Scribbs smiled at Weatherall. "Try your light over here once more."

The M.E. did as instructed after Scribbs turned off her torch. A blotchy blue glow clung to the bar. "Yes, there it is."

"Blood?" Kate asked.

Weatherall smiled in the dark. "No. Cerebral spinal fluid. That's what is glowing; the CSF. It's the watery fluid that surrounds brain and spinal column. Must have been a vicious blow."

Scribbs muttered, "Ought to have studied bloody biology, I guess."

"What?" Kate hissed.

"Nothing," Emma sighed. "At times I hate this job. So they banged him on the head and then threw the bar down here; into the rubbish."

A clattering started as the recovery team brought down basket stretchers and other gear. A photographer followed them and began firing off her camera.

By the time that Scribbs had nearly frozen stiff, which was about an hour later, Weatherall's team had finished their first survey. They gingerly rolled the female body over and found a knife hilt protruding from her chest, just about over her heart.

Kate gave a big sigh. "No, the fall might not be the cause of her death."

Weatherall was taking a close look at the wound. "Quick, this. They got lucky. The blade missed ribs and went straight in. Death would be instantaneous, or nearly so."

Scribbs walked over to Ash and mumbled to her, "Ever think about being a lorry driver or a school teacher?"

Ash shook her head. "Me? A teacher? And deal with kids every day? No thanks."

 **Note:**

 **Sorry for the long delay getting back to this.**

 **And of course Kate Ashurst was played by Caroline Catz who DOES play a teacher in another show. :)**


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9 – Considerations**

Ash peered across the pub table at her new partner, who was giving her an odd look.

Scribbs gazed right back at her. "What?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing what?" Ash shook her head. "Look Scribbs, if we're going to get on, you have to let me into that pretty blond head of yours."

Scribbs preened her short hair. "It wasn't always blond. Not when I was over in Thatchford."

"Really," Ash said after taking a drink of her steaming coffee. "God my feet are still frozen."

"Yeah, I'm freezing as well. Jet black though; dyed." She toyed with her short hair. "My hair."

Ash thought about it and replied, "Doesn't seem that color would suit you."

Scribbs shook her head. "Nope. Made me look quite... jolly, right? About as jolly as our late citizens." She leaned forward to whisper. "And over at Thatchford Nick, it was all a late turn."

"Late turn?" Ash leaned in. "Night work then."

"Weeks of it." Scribbs peered around and lower her voice more. "Dodgy stuff. With black hair, and a full set of leathers – oh my God, I was quite the stunner. Not."

"I hope you were undercover."

Scribbs looked around the crowded room and nodded once.

Ash tensed. She didn't really know the woman. "Right. So you…" Did Scribbs just say she was into something unsavory at Thatchford police?

Scribbs shook her head. "Never been a bent copper, but _some_ have. That was the thing… at the other Nick."

"Scribbs! Shush!" Ash yelled, just as the waiter brought their dinners.

The man had to notice the tenseness of the two women as he laid their dinners down. "Need anything here?"

Scribbs smiled at him and he blushed. "Oh, I can think of a few things, but my mate and I do need more drink. Another pint for me and more coffee for my friend."

The young fellow smiled. "Right away."

Scribbs admired his backside in the tight black jeans as he strode away. "Hmmm, nice. How old you think is? Twenty-five? Twenty-eight? Think he goes for older women?"

Ash turned her head to see that Scribbs was checking out his bum so she scowled.

"What?" Scribbs hissed. "And you never checked out a bloke?"

"I have and I do, but," Ash shook her head, "technically we are still on duty."

"It's just a second pint, Kate. Jeeze." Scribbs looked at her watch. "Looking won't hurt, and besides Weatherall said give him a couple hours. At least we got the bare bones of a report on file."

"And got to bag the found evidence, transport it to station, and then get it registered as evidence." Ash yawned. "How did we end up in this business?" she whispered. "Dead bodies, murders, and missing persons?"

Scribbs grinned as she dug into her fish and chips. "Only my tenth deader; and eleventh, I suppose."

"It's a living," Ash answered. "It _is_ about public safety." She bit her cheek. How many for her? She thought about it. How many murder victims had she seen in four-and-a-half years? Twenty-five? No, twenty-eight. She shuddered; a ghoulish score.

Scribbs went on, saying, " _And_ a bit of retribution, for you know as well as I do that most of the perps only do the deed once and never again. It's the punishment part that gets me."

Ash bristled. "So you think we just let them go?"

"No, not what I'm saying." Scribbs sipped her beer. "God I hate these long days."

Ash sighed. "Plays hell with relationships, don't it? I don't fancy any boyfriend would like these hours." She yawned. That had put paid to her last two friends – the hours she worked. How many dates had she missed because of an investigation?

"Oh my yes. And you? Got a fella?"

"Not at the moment." Ash didn't want to go into her dating habits, which had been infrequent of late. "You?"

"Not since I moved down here from Thatchford."

"Bust up?"

Scribbs downed what was left of her pint. "You might say that. He was the one I arrested."

Ash sat back. There was more to Emma Scribbins than met the eye. "I…" She picked up her fork and began to tuck in. "Right."

Scribbs played with her pint glass and then sighed. "And yes he was nice, ahem, in _certain_ ways, but selling drugs to the uni crowd was rather off putting."

Ash grinned at her. "What certain ways?" she asked mischievously. "Selling drugs?"

Scribbs sniggered. "Tick a lock. I won't tell tales out of school."

"Scribbs, I'm not prying for Heaven's sake."

"Yes you are, friend."

Ash smiled and held up her fingers a quarter inch apart. "Teeny bit." Scribbs began to eat her fish while Ash worked on her chicken. "A nice man? And drugs, you said?"

"A bit of a messy snogger, but the shagging was nice," Scribbs muttered grinning from ear to ear.

"Scribbs! My God!"

"What? Like you don't think about your boyfriends that way?"

Ash ducked her head. "Just lower your voice."

"Right," mumbled Scribbs, "and I'm no sex fiend if that's what you think. But look at you! You're blushing, fer chrissakes."

Ash held up her hand. "Just let it go Scribbs."

"Kate, I was with the guy, okay? It's… look, we… uhm, dated… and then I got assigned undercover, and it ended up that the dirty money - drug money - led to him, my boyfriend, who _also_ was a cop. He handled moving the cash to safe havens."

Ash looked very hard at Scribbs across the table. "Now I think I could use a pint."


	10. Chapter 10

**I apologize for the very LONNNG delay in getting back to this mystery. So here we go!**

 **Chapter 10 – Discoveries**

Dr. Weatherall coughed into a tissue, and then cleared his throat. "Sorry. Picked up a cold."

Scribbs wrinkled her nose. "Hope it's nothing you picked up from a corpse."

He tried to laugh, but it turned into a hacking cough.

Automatically Ash and Scribbs each took a step back. Scribbs clapped her hands over her mouth. "Lord, Doc. Plague's not funny," she told him.

"Can you just tell us what you found?" Ash asked, while trying not to inhale.

Weatherall wiped his nose, binned the tissue, and then whisked a sheet off a naked body. Blue and ashen looking, the man they'd found in the basement lay flat on the steel table. "Caught this cold from my boys," he explained. "But this man, death due to massive intracranial hemorrhage, caused by trauma from being struck with steel bar we found." He half-turned to a small table where the three-foot long rod lay. "The size of the bar is a perfect fit to the depression in the skull." He grimaced. "From the angle, it appears that he was struck from the rear. Unless the assailant stood on a ladder. No prints on the bar. Just rust, dirt, and smudges. They must have had on gloves. The back of the head is shattered outward. Death would have been quick. He didn't feel much after the initial blow."

"A ladder we did not find," Ash pointed out. "So shorter than him?"

"Perhaps," he answered. "Right. The wound is to the right side of the cranium, so either a right-handed person swung it, or they did it left-handed while off to his right." He smiled. "Or used both hands."

Scribbs bent down to examine the depressed wound on the back of deceased's head. "Nasty. How much force do you think this took?"

Weatherall shook his head. "A fair bit. Either a very strong person, or someone in the throes of passion."

"Murder could always be said to be _passionate_ ," Ash observed. "Unfortunately."

"Of course," he answered, then wiped his dripping nose. "I also found that the tibia and fibula, both lower leg bones, are shattered each side, as well as the bones of the right foot. I'd say those were from the fall into the trash-filled basement. A fifteen-foot fall will do that." He stood and stared at the detectives.

When they didn't respond he went on with his exposition. "So, he was struck, and then fell forward through the hole in the floor, into the basement, and collapsed to his back. Lividity marks, and the amount of decomposition, seem to indicate death was days ago; as many as eight to ten. Recent cool days and nights would have slowed the rate of tissue decay."

Scribbs looked down at the dead man. "He worked out. Look at those muscles."

Weatherall coughed. "He's just as dead as if he didn't work out. No defensive injuries. Now the other one," he turned to a second shrouded table.

The dead woman found with the man in the basement lay exposed when the cover was taken off.

Weatherall let the detectives absorb the view for a moment. The body was as ashy-blue as the dead man. It always gave him a chill to examine young and fit people. The old, or accident victims, he could deal with readily enough. The worst were the children. These cases of violent death were an insult to all he knew from medicine, for the magic of life fascinated him. Yet his job as a Medical Examiner helped him gather facts so the police could send someone to justice. "She was stabbed in the heart, you saw that at the house. No defensive injuries, so whoever stabbed her did it quickly."

"Can we see the knife?" Scribbs asked.

Weatherall pushed a tray towards them, where the short-handled knife lay on a blue surgical towel.

Ash and Scribbs bent their heads over it.

"A paring knife?" Scribbs said.

"A bit longer than that, Scribbs," Ash retorted.

Weatherall coughed. "10 cm blade, forged stainless. Plastic handle with rivets." He reached out a gloved hand to flip the thing over, exposing the maker's name etched on the blade. "Ebbers," he read. "A rather common brand. You can buy these at any home goods or department store. I've a set myself."

Ash sucked air through her nose. "A too common knife."

"Wielded by an uncommon killer," Scribbs added.

"Man or woman?" Ash said.

"Depends," Weatherall answered. "It doesn't take a man to stab someone in the heart or to cosh someone fatally." He sighed. "Bad business all around."

Ash peered down at the blade. "But they carried it with them? They were looking for trouble."

"We didn't find any missing knives in Barnard home. All his knives were high class; Swiss," Scribbs told her. "I looked."

"She was stabbed right in the heart," Ash told him. "Luck or skill?"

Weatherall shrugged. "Almost; aorta actually. Could be luck. Or someone with knowledge, such as medical or military, perhaps. Even a butcher or even a fisherman."

Scribbs was chewing on her thumbnail then stopped herself with a will. "The man gets hit, and goes into the hole. Then the woman gets stabbed, and she falls in as well. Or was pushed."

Ash shook her head. "But she was holding his elbow. We found her that way. She was lying on her front with his hand on his arm."

Weatherall screwed up his face. "About that. The puncture to the aorta was not complete; it partially severed the vessel. She may have been alive for a few minutes after being stabbed. She too had broken ankles. And there were signs on her clothing she had dragged herself towards the man. Plus, I found dried tears on her face."

Ash gave Scribbs a startled look who gave it back. "Horrible. While the killer stood above watching her struggle," Ash hissed.

Scribbs shook her head sadly. "Cold-blooded. Is there more?"

The M.E. cocked his head. "She worked out as well. Very fit young woman and…" he said triumphantly, "she was pregnant."

"Oh," Ash groaned.

Scribbs grimaced. "We had a theory she was trying to get pregnant. How far along?"

The M.E. examined a clipboard. "Eight weeks or so. She might not have known it."

"Any chance to know the blood type of the foetus?" Ash asked.

Weatherall shook his head. "I'm sorry, not much left there, I'm afraid. The lab is trying to process what we found. I'll let you know. But being pregnant…" he stopped to blow his nose loudly. "Excuse me. Ask the husband if he knew. She might have been having morning sickness. Perhaps _he_ noticed. There a chance the child is his?"

Ash shook her head. "Not sure. Or maybe it was this man," she touched the dead man's cold hand briefly. She felt the chill of his flesh and she shuddered.

Scribbs squatted down to look at the woman's profile. "Poor thing." She stared up at the M.E. "Is this Jenny Browning?"

Weatherall nodded slowly. "'Fraid so. Dental records match. It's her. Two fillings and a crown restoration. And she had fallen from a horse as a child. I found the mended bones in her arm."

Ash pulled out her notebook to note the time and date of the identity find. "And this man?"

Weatherall turned a page on the clipboard. "Barnard, Michael Thomas. Thirty-four years old. We confirmed his fingerprints from Royal Navy records."

"The vet," Scribbs said, "Now we have both the missing woman and a veterinarian. Lord." She stared at the body. "No trip to Majorca, my friend."

Ash wrote this down as well, flipped her notebook closed, and taking a long look at the bodies, whispered, "We'll find who done this."

Weatherall tipped his head to one side. "Jealousy, you think?"

"What else?" Scribbs replied.

"Good hunting," Weatherall told them in reply as he covered the bodies.

Ash and Scribbs left the mortuary. "Sometimes I hate this job," Scribbs said to her partner as they walked down the corridor.

Ash replied, "Sometimes?"

"Well, a lot of times," Scribbs said. She threw her thumb over her shoulder at the closed doors to the morgue behind them. "Like back there."


End file.
